The Price To Pay
by anonymous1222
Summary: After exacting revenge on his friend's killer, Kent Lutner runs away from home. Supporting himself by robbing the criminals he stops, Kent never planned to join the city's other heroes until Hit-Girl collapses outside his apartment one night while on her way to enlist the aid of Kick-Ass. Masked heroes are being murdered and it is up to these three to put an end to it. H-G/K-A


Prologue:

It kind of started out as a joke. My best friend and I would wear cheap costume store masks and would dress in all black so that we could go out and "fight crime." But in truth the most heroic thing we did was stop a few bar-goers from driving home wasted. A good deed, yes, but it was hardly breaking news material. We didn't care though, Kick ass had inspired us to do anything we could to make the world a little better.

What can I say? It was fun, and we weren't hurting anybody. And the rush we got from having our own secret identities, no matter how lame they were; that was the best part. We didn't have to fight real crime to get that feeling, we simply couldn't wait to be someone….something else for just a few hours late at night on the weekends.

But real life isn't like the comic books. Cliché, I know. But most 15 year olds can't just up and become superheroes. We were smart enough to know we would be way out of our league if we took part in that brawl between Justice Forever and the Toxic Mega Cunts. We knew that higher moral ground doesn't mean you will come out on top. The laws of physics always apply. But if there was one thing we should have known it's that fighting crime, no matter how petty, can get you killed.

We were about to call it a night. We had just tried, with no success, to find this old man's glasses after he dropped them on the sidewalk. But after an hour of searching he told us that he could easily replace them and thanked us for our efforts. We felt good, and we were both ready to go back to the real world the next day, but on our way home something happened that turned my life in a direction I had never expected.

We were halfway home when we heard a woman scream. Still feeling the rush of our attempted good deed, we ran to the source and saw the victim, a young woman, not much older than us, held at gunpoint by a man, "Just give me the purse," he told her, "and I won't hurt you."

He hadn't seen us yet, so I stayed hidden around the corner of the alley and pulled out my cellphone to call the police. But that wasn't enough for my friend. "Hey," she shouted at the man, "leave her alone," and without a moment of hesitation she charged in and tackled the man. The gun flew out of his hand and skidded out of sight, and I ran in to help her.

But I was too late. Before I even reached the guy, he had broken away from her and was staring at her in utter fear. In his hand he held a bloody knife, and I knew at that moment that our little hobby had taken a dark turn. He had stabbed her in the throat, and she bled out in pain, unable to even ask for help in her final moments.

The funeral was held the day she was supposed to turn 16….yeah, happy fucking birthday. There weren't many people there; two weirdos like us didn't have many friends. Her parents were a wreck. My parents were even a wreck. She was like a daughter to them. But I didn't cry. I was too angry.

She was like a sister to me, and if there was one thing I still believed in from my comic books it was that you don't fuck with family. I wanted revenge at first, but not even a week had passed when I had decided to give up. Fantasizing was one thing, but how was I, a lanky, pale, comic book hero wannabe going to kill a man? That kind of thing just wasn't a part of my world.

But everything changed when I went back to the alley.

I wanted to get some closure. I wanted to start putting the whole fucking ordeal behind me. But when I visited that alley I found the thing that made me rethink the possibility of revenge. The police never looked for the gun—why would they? No one ever mentioned it. All that the police knew was that the woman was getting mugged and my friend had gotten stabbed. And there it was hidden under a pile of junk. Oddly enough there weren't any bullets in it. But I had a picture of the guys face from when the police were questioning me, so I was able to put my plan into action.

Bullets were easy to come by in New Jersey, you don't even need a permit. But finding the guy was the hard part. Every night I would slip out of my home and head downtown and ask around for any information about the guy. At first I was afraid of getting mugged, after all I was dealing with druggies and crooks, but I soon found out that not many people will give you trouble when you have a gun pointed at their face.

I was on the hunt. In the time since the incident I did everything I could to make sure that my plot for revenge went smoothly. I started taking Judo and self-defense classes after school and made sure to train every day. It took some time, but found a few leads toward finding the man who killed my friend. It wasn't all too hard to be honest, once I figured out how to get in touch with people. Of course I got my ass handed to me from time to time, but a few bucks here, a not so empty threat there, and the night before graduation, after two years of searching, I found him. I fucking found him.

He was passed out on the floor, alone in a tiny run-down house on the edge of town. If I hadn't been so naïve I could have finished this long before. I kicked the man in the shin, "Wake up," I ordered, but he didn't even stir, "I said, 'wake up!'" I repeated and I kicked him hard in the stomach. Woken up, he doubled over and coughed up some blood. He looked up at me, and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could even beg for his miserable life I raised the gun to his head, "This is for Karolyn Landau."

Despite all those stories that tell you revenge never fills that hole in your heart after loss, I have to say, I never felt better than I did on that walk home. I knew that I would have to run away. Too many people had seen my face in my hunt, and I would be one of the prime suspects if the police ever looked into it. So I packed my things and ran. I spent the rest of my money on food and train tickets until I hit the Big City.

A mask goes a long way when you have no connections left, and as long as I only targeted the trash of the city no one would be looking for me. I dropped my old name and adopted a new one every few weeks. I squatted for shelter until I found a crappy one-room apartment of my own.

Now I live the life of a vigilante. Don't get me wrong; it's not out of some sense of honor. I do it because I know that I can pull the trigger if I have to. And hey, if I support myself by robbing a bunch of lowlifes, who cares? If that is the price of my revenge, I regret nothing, and I will fight crime in my own way until I met my unfortunate end. I will become a hero for her.

My name is Kent Lutner and this is my story of revenge.

Chapter 1:

Have you ever had to superglue a wound closed? It's actually not so bad once you get used to it. You clean it up, hold the skin together, and apply the glue. But if you get the glue inside the wound and you're not using that FDA approved shit, well, then it's going to fucking sting.

You see there was this guy. He was a tiny little fucker. He snatched this lady's purse and tried to make a run for it, but unfortunately for him ended up headed in my direction. I clotheslined the prick and was returning the purse to the woman when the bastard gets up and charges me with a knife. He managed to get two good slashes on my forearm before I shoved his face into the pavement—sneakily stealing his wallet in the process.

So there I was in a convenience store bathroom with a tube of superglue in one hand and two gashes on my left arm –one recently sealed that burned like the fires of hell. But most importantly I had 23 dollars in my pocket as a reward for my good deed.

"One down, one to go," I told myself as I cleaned off the blood that ran out of the remaining open wound. I squeezed some glue onto the edges of the wound, trying my best not to get any inside, but as I squeezed the skin together, the excess glue seeped in and the burning commenced.

It hurt like a bitch and I couldn't help but let out a terse, "fuck!" Seriously, getting cut was bad, but it was so quick that the pain kind of died shortly after, but that chemical shit just fucking stings. I even had to grip the sides of the bloody sink until stinging died down enough for my hands to stop shaking.

It had been almost a year since I ran away from home. Turns out the police never actually suspected me in the killing, but honestly by that point I didn't want to go back. My life may not have been glamorous, and I may have spent a few too many nights bruised and hungry, but I liked what I was doing. Sure, I may not have been as moral as Kick-Ass, but what masked hero is? Though, you can't blame the guy. It is his job to make sure us masked heroes are kept in a positive light.

At midnight I was at my one-room apartment, dressed and ready for the night's action. I didn't do the whole costume thing at the time—it was far too expensive for my budget and I didn't have the patience or skill to make my own, so I just stuck to simplicity: black pants, black long sleeve shirt, elbow pads, knee pads, a black eye mask, and a mouth guard.

Seriously, that mouth guard is important. My first night out in the city I nearly bit my tongue off after taking an uppercut to the jaw. Plus, I couldn't afford a dentist, so it prevented my teeth from digging me deeper into poverty.

Dressed and ready for action I walked to the door, grabbing my staff on the way out. It wasn't much, just a 6-foot long length of wood that I painted black. Like my costume it was simple and practical, and if I broke it over some guy's skull I could replace it for a buck.

On my way out of the apartment I spotted Rick, my informant. A few months before I had saved his ass from a couple of goons who were chasing him down after he slept with one of their girls. Since then he'd been feeding me the locations of drug dealers and pimps. As pathetic as this may sound, he was the closest thing to a friend I had, "Yo, Rick, what's going down tonight?"

The guy was a bit paranoid, so he jumped a bit before he realized it was me, "Shit man, for once can you drop the mask? It freaks me out."

"No can do. Secret identity, remember?" I'd never told him my name. I knew the bastard would never sell me out, but put a gun to his nuts and he'd have traded his mother for his own freedom.

"Right, right, sorry," he stammered and rubbed his hand together in that stereotypical slimy way that the shady guy always does in the movies, "Okay, there's a minor drug deal going on with Xander J."

"The guy who sells weed?" I asked as we start making our way down the street, "Come on, I have rent due tomorrow and I'd like to be able to eat more than a meal a day." The weed dealers in that part of the city never had much money on them. Besides, I didn't care if someone wanted to strike up a joint. If it didn't get me closer to the big wigs, it wasn't worth my time.

"Actually, he's moved up in the world. He's selling Honey's product now."

"Honey B.'s letting that prick move her product?"

"He's cleaned up his act. You know he took out a pair from Justice Forever? Remembering….Johnny or something. Apparently Honey B. thought he had potential and put him on her payroll."

"Good for him," he had my attention. Honey B. was one of the city's biggest meth suppliers. She got her name because she cut her meth with honey, which apparently gave it some unique kind of kick. Now meth dealers were always a welcome…. Meth would really fuck you up, and stopping the sales always paid a pretty penny, "How many guys do you expect will be there?"

"Xander and his enforcer, no doubt. Given the way Honey B. operates I doubt the buyers will bring too much muscle."

"Thanks, Rick," I passed him a couple of bucks for the information.

"You'll find them in Gavin's Pub. Good luck," he said before disappearing down an alley.

Gavin's Pub was about as seedy an establishment as you could get in those parts. The place was officially shut down a few weeks prior after Kick-Ass exposed a prostitution ring being run beneath the bar, and since then it had been something of a hangout for anyone looking to score a quick high.

Fifteen minutes later I was peering through one of the windows and saw the deal starting to go down. Xander J., the guy looked like he belonged in a prep school more than he did in the drug trade. Popped collar, combed hair, he was no older than I was. But he got into the wrong business, and I wasn't one for forgiveness.

Next to him was the guy's enforcer, a hulk of a man: easily over six feet tall and at least 200 pounds, he was going to give me some trouble if I didn't get the jump on him. Luckily the two buyers didn't look like much. I figured they would run the second I took down the big guy, but I need the money and the meth, so I had to make sure they didn't escape with any of the shit.

Ready for some action I climbed up the fire escape and snuck in through one of the many broken windows into a bedroom on the second floor. I opened the door quietly and walked out, making sure to stay low to the ground. I quietly placed my staff on the ground and crawled to the edge of the floor.

I took a few quick notes of the scene below. The tables and chairs were all pushed against the walls, there were a few empty bottles scattered on the floor, and the pool table bolted in place was empty of any pool cues and balls. "Okay," I happily whispered as I backed away from the edge. There didn't seem to be anything they would be able to use as a weapon beyond what they may have had on them. I could see the enforcer's gun tucked in the back of his pants, but I knew that if I took him out quick enough it wouldn't be a problem.

I rose to a crouch, retrieved my staff, and walked over to the stairs. There was a partition between the stairs and the main floor, so I made my slow descent making sure not to make any noise, and when I reached the bottom I held my staff at the ready. I peered out over the corner. Thankfully the suppliers had their backs to me and the buyers were too focused on the deal to notice me.

"You have the money?" Xander J. asked, and the buyer on the right handed over a duffel bag to the enforcer. Minor deal? Rick, had hit the fucking jackpot on this one. The enforcer opened the bag and started counting the stacks.

"It's all here," he said, and Xander tossed the two a brown package.

That was my cue. As the buyer on the right caught the package, I charged in. I brought my staff crashing down on the enforcer's head, breaking the it in two, and once the man hit the ground I punched him in the back of the head, knocking him out cold.

The remaining three took a moment to take in what had just happened, so I used their confusion to my advantage and slammed my broken staff across Xander's face. He spun to the ground and struggled to get to his feet, so I decided to chase after the now fleeing buyers.

Shockingly, the one without the package grabbed his buddy and threw him to the ground. "Take him, take the shit," he cried out, terrified, "just let me go."

Fine by me. There wasn't much to be gained by chasing down that low life, "You bastard, I'm gonna—" his friend called out to him, but I quickly cut him off with a swift kick to the back of the head that knocked his face into the floor, causing a pool of blood to flow from his nose.

"Well that was fun," I said. I cracked my knuckles and turned to Xander, who I expected to still be lying on the ground, "But I guess it's time to….oh shit." The bastard was gone. I figured he bolted once his muscle was down, but I didn't care. He left the money, and after stopping the deal that's all I needed. I tossed my broken staff aside and walked over to the duffel bag. Some of the cash had fallen out, but I quickly shoved it back inside. All things considered, I thought things went pretty well.

Until something hit me in the back of the head like a ton of bricks. My ears started ringing and I had trouble seeing straight, but I managed to regain my balance, "You should have stayed down, bitch," I tell Xander as my eyes came back into focus, "You could have just walked away," I couldn't help but let a mischievous smile creep onto my face. This punk wanted a fight and I was willing to give it to him. "You're in for a world of pain."

I started walking toward him. The guy had no one to watch his back, and by the looks of things he didn't have a single fight under his belt. I thought it going to be a piece of cake.

-click—

"Oh you have got to be shitting me," I said as he raised the gun that he took from his enforcer.

"Look," he said, and blood came out of his mouth, "Here's the deal. I take the drugs, I take the money, and you let me walk out that door. Got it?"

I nodded. What the fuck was I supposed to do? He may not have looked like much of a fighter, but there's no way to tell how good of a shot he was. For all I knew he was motherfucking Deadshot, and I was not going to risk my life for cash, no matter how hungry I was.

He kept the gun trained on me as he walked toward the door and retrieved the package. I couldn't believe this was happening. I was so close to scoring big for once, and then this shithead…put his gun down as he put the package and the overflowing money back in the duffel bag.

I didn't hesitate for a second. I sprinted as fast as I could and launched myself at Xander. He caught on and reached for his gun. When I made contact with him, he reflexively fired a shot that hit the pool table. But it was over. I was on top of the guy and there was nothing he could do. I punched him hard in the nose, disorienting him, and then I grabbed him by his hair and continually slammed his head into the ground. Satisfied, and unsure if the guy would even wake up, I let go of his head, which hit the ground with a splat. I picked up the duffel bag and walk out the front door, making sure to collect the broken pieces of my staff on the way.

That stage in my life as a hero may not have been glamorous, but it was all I needed. Plus it was way better than working a nine-to-five in some diner. I know that Justice Forever would have frowned on the way I chose to enforce justice, but as far as I knew I was the only guy in a mask who bothered doing anything good in that area of town.

Of course I didn't know it at the time, but that would all change very soon. The masked hero movement all started with Kick-Ass and most people accepted that he was the world's first superhero, but the following night I learned that there was someone who came before Kick-Ass, someone who started her career right here in New York City….

And she was back in town.

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I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter. Your input/criticisms are always welcome.


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